


Femslash Drabbles

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/F, Fluff, Get Together, Ginny in denial, HP Femslash Ship Weeks, More Pining, Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-07-14 10:11:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 2,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7166969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shrine to the queer ladies of Harry Potter. </p><p>Open to requests.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ginny/Luna: Mindyfigs

The lunch bell rings, the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw sixth years thunder out of the Charms classroom, and Luna grabs Ginny's hand, tugs her down the corridor and to a secluded alcove, and kisses her. 

Ginny catches her head, surprised, her other arm bent awkwardly between her and Luna's shoulders. The soft slide of Luna's hair curls across her fingers, and unexpected tingles fizz and spark over her skin as she stands there, frozen, Luna's tongue sliding over hers. 

They pull apart and Ginny just stares, her mind desperately trying to catch up with what just happened. Luna actually blushes. 

"Don't be angry," Luna begins. "You see, if you don't try to kiss the person you really like, you'll make them vulnerable to mindyfigs. Mindyfigs are musical demons, see. They creep into their targets' beds and sing to them and give them awful nightmares. I couldn't let them get you."

Luna blinks at her, large eyes reflecting the dim light from the adjacent corridor, light that glows across the softly curving lines of her neck and shoulders, her smile. Ginny swallows. 

"Well, then maybe it's best if I try to kiss you back."


	2. Ginny/Tonks: Straight

Ginny Weasley is absolutely straight. Biting into her Christmas turkey with unnecessary force, Ginny doesn't care about what people say; magicking herself a pixie cut at the end of third year and playing Quidditch do not make her gay in any way, any more than secretly admiring Parvati Patil's lips or Luna's pretty collarbones (and Tonks Tonks Tonks, her mind supplies, helpfully) mean that she isn't exclusively attracted to boys. Girls look good, and Ginny appreciating things and people that look good is all.

"But that's enough about me! How about you girls? Good term, Ginny?"

Ginny looks up. Impossible as it sounds, it is almost difficult to recall how dingy Grimmauld Place was the previous summer. The chandelier sparkles over an excellent Christmas feast, and even Harry has been successful dragged out of his great strop.

Tonks is laughing at her and Hermione from across the table, waggling neon eyebrows, her eyes flashing in rainbow colours before settling on a soft amber. Her hair is short and a lurid shade of violet, and something about the way she shrugs her leather jacket off her with careless ease and takes a great swig from her glass, spilling butterbeer over her lap makes Ginny unable to look away.

"See something you like?" Tonks winks, and Ginny's heart skips in her chest. "'S normal. Lots of people have secret crushes on me." Dramatically puffing up her chest and patting it with joking pride, she flutters her lashes, eyes dancing with humour.

Hermione rolls her eyes and Tonks just starts giggling, and Ginny groans inwardly.

Maybe not so straight after all.

.


	3. Pansy/Hermione: Bathroom

Hermione Granger is fucking _beautiful _.__

__Wet hair curling, caressing porcelain ears. Lips puckered, sinfully red. Muscle stretching beneath expanses of velvet milk skin, disappearing beneath the towel. Droplets sliding, smooth and light down that narrow back, trailing over narrow, perfect hips._ _

__The Prefects' bathroom is too hot, too steamed._ _

__Does she taste like scented honey, like the forbidden _(oh, yes) _Muggleborn, Gryffindor girl she is? Does she love like a novice, or a siren, stretched out, luxurious...___ _

____Pansy crosses the bathroom in three steps. Pansy Parkinson takes what she wants._ _ _ _

____Hermione Granger looks up, eyes wide and breath hitching._ _ _ _


	4. Lavender/Fleur: Awkward

"She talked to me! Yesterday, when the two of you skipped lunch to write Flitwick's essay and I was eating alone, she and her friends chose the Gryffindor table and she even asked for my name — me! I'm just a fourth year and she's a Triwizard Champion! — and can you imagine the effort it took for me to keep a straight face and not just _die — _"__

__Across from Lavender, Hermione and Parvati exchange amused looks._ _

__"Must have been hard. Nothing about you is straight when it comes to that French girl, Lavender. It's kind of the point."_ _

__"You're so hopeless, Lav!"_ _

__"Oh, shut it," Lavender giggles. She feels tingly all over, like she has just flown a Firebolt all the way to the moon, or like the time she accepted bright orange candy from George Weasley and was literally unable to stop herself from cartwheeling around the common room on one leg until Fred put her right. She thinks of the way Fleur Delacour walks, like an angel from some kind of dream, floating and gliding and half-dancing, and the way Fleur speaks, like coffee and spices, Lavender thinks breathlessly, and the cascade of Fleur's blonde hair, and Fleur's slender fingers, and her bloody beautiful collarbones, and —_ _

__"Excuse me," comes a melodic voice from behind, "which floor are the Transfiguration classrooms on? We've been looking for ages."_ _

__As if on cue, Hermione and Parvati burst out laughing. Parvati covers her face with her hands and ducks under the table, and Hermione's cheeks glow pink with mirth. Lavender turns, torturously, heat flaming around her ears, to face Fleur Delacour and her group of Beauxbatons friends. Fleur's slender fingers are crossed in front of her, her bloody beautiful collarbones illuminated by the shaft of sunlight streaming in through the courtyard window, and the puzzlement that creases her features as she glances over at Hermione and Parvati makes Lavender contemplate simply scarpering._ _

__"What's so funny?" Fleur's eyes are narrowed._ _

__"N-nothing!" Parvati gasps, still shaking with mirth. "Just a private joke!"_ _

__"Classroom's on the fourth floor," Hermione supplies, still grinning far too broadly._ _

__Fleur and her friends leave and Lavender buries her face in her hands._ _

__"Was it really that hard for _you two _to keep straight faces?"___ _


	5. Pansy/Millicent: Test

Sometimes, Millicent can almost pretend that she doesn't want Pansy.

It's like a test she administers to herself. Ten points when she manages to make herself daydream about kissing Daphne instead. Fifteen points when she finds that she can, just maybe, look at Pansy laughing on a broomstick and school her emotions into something other than utterly hopeless. Full marks when she can almost believe that she isn't another foolish gay girl in love with her straight best friend.

And then Pansy crawls into her bed, shoulders shaking because of something some Gryffindor boy called her, or eyes puffy at Draco's indifference at her new scarf. Pansy's torso twists, sinuous, against hers, neck curving softly in the dim light, and Pansy's body is so warm as she presses her cheek into Millicent's chest and lets her stroke damp fringe from sweaty skin. When Millicent opens her eyes in the blush of dawn, she watches Pansy swim her way groggily to wakefulness, cheeks rosy with sleep, crusty eyes jewel-bright with trust, body still cradled in Millicent's arms.

Millicent fails her useless test, every time.


	6. Ginny/Luna: Small Displays of Affection

January. Luna lands herself in detention with Snape and returns pale, grey, dinner-less. Ginny sneaks cauldron cakes into her common room, watches Luna frown and spend hours inspecting them for poisons and Basaniums and Viomets. By the next morning, though, the cakes are gone, the wrappers neatly deposited in the bin beside Luna's bed.  
February. On Valentines' Day, Ginny sends Luna chocolates and pretends they're from the pretty Hufflepuff girl she thinks Luna secretly admires. A flicker sparks across Luna's eyes, and Ginny gets a strange feeling in her chest. She doesn't know what to feel.

March. Ginny joins Luna as she dangles her legs in the freezing spring lake, watching the giant squid splash lazily in the distance. Ginny wraps her cloak around Luna's shoulders, listens as her teeth stop chattering. She doesn't say anything. The air is crisp, and sharp birdcall rises from the distance.

April. Luna turns up for Ginny's Quidditch practice. She follows Ginny into the changing rooms afterwards, and Ginny peels her gear off her, slowly, painfully aware of Luna's proximity. Her arms are sore so Luna carries her things up to the castle for her. Luna is quiet, but Ginny thinks she may have thrown her a small smile.

May. Exams loom over them, and Ginny brews Luna potions to keep her awake and healthy. She doesn't know if Luna knows where the new glass of Strengthening Solution magically appearing at her bedside every evening comes from. As usual, Luna doesn't say a thing.

June. July. August. Ginny writes letters to Luna, scraps them, writes again. Sends a Hello, I hope you're having a good time, hope to see you soon. Luna's reply is short, crisp, and Ginny smoothes her hands over the soft parchment and wishes for more words to appear. They don't. She tries to reply, scraps five pieces of parchments, tries again, incinerates the incriminating evidence of folly.

.

September. Luna doesn't say anything when Ginny kisses her. She doesn't think she has to. She just tugs Ginny closer, leans into her touch, and thinks, Finally.


	7. Pansy/Hermione: Ratty Pyjamas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drabble based on http://hpfemshipweeks.tumblr.com/post/148792796566/pansmione-headcanons.

"You mean to say that you're still wearing this nonsense, this immedicable _rattiness _, this —"__

__Pansy storms into the bathroom without bothering to knock, sending the flimsy door swinging dangerously from its frame. One hand grips her wand as though expecting a duel, and the other brandishes Hermione's favourite pyjamas with a touch more violence than Hermione thinks is strictly necessary, really._ _

__Hermione raises her eyebrows and continues towelling her hair._ _

__"I bought you all those silk camisoles in all your favourite colours, didn't I? There was a forest green and a velvety grey and a _gorgeous _sapphire one. Didn't you like them at all?"___ _

____Pansy stomps off in a huff, and Hermione has to suppress a giggle. A year of living with her girlfriend has taught her all that she needs to know about Pansy's sulks. She slips into the ratty old pyjamas that have incited Pansy's wrath this time, and heads off to the bedroom, from where Pansy is still muttering about lousy girlfriends who will never learn to appreciate the finer things in life._ _ _ _

____Getting into bed, Hermione dims the lights, and reaches over to Pansy, who makes a _Humph _sound and doesn't shift closer.___ _ _ _

______"I _love _your camisoles," Hermione insists. "I just love my ratty pyjamas more, see." She presses a kiss into Pansy's hair, something that gets her out of any of her famous strops. She smiles into Pansy's forehead and wraps an arm around her waist, tugging her under the covers. "Besides, you love my pyjamas too."___ _ _ _ _ _

________Pansy doesn't respond. As Hermione closes her eyes, though, she feels Pansy snuggle up against her, cheek against her shoulder, against the soft cotton of her ratty pyjamas, feels a warm, vaguely indignant huff against the crook of her neck, and can't help but grin._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


	8. Cho/Marietta: A Stolen Kiss

You steal a kiss from Cho, soft as a summer's day, as she is laughing. Soft strands of hair, silvered by sunlight, fall around the bright uplift of her cheekbones, and you snatch a taste of sweetest heaven, ephemeral as the brush of a hummingbird's wing –

Not to go unpunished. She rears back as though stung, hand flying to her mouth as though the taste of you is nothing better than vitriol and belladonna. What the fuck, Marietta? she demands, and there is vitriol and belladonna laced in every word, too, as she wipes at her lips so that no trace of your filth may remain, so that she may proceed forth without you, chin high and gaze icy. 

Which is how you learn never to steal more kisses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many, many things stolen from Catullus 99 (I highly recommend his works, by the way!). I'm sorry


	9. Hermione/Pansy: Prefect Duty

Prefects' duty means Hannah Abbot's swinging braids and buck-toothed smile, and light banter about homework as corridors passed by. Hannah's intermittent high pitched laughter fills the spaces between them, her pale hands gesticulating, swimming through the air with aquatic grace. Prefects' duty means Hannah's soft presence and forgiving silence, and Hogwarts corridors striped by shadows, the silver moon gliding out over the grounds.

Whatever prefects' duty is, it changes the day when it is not Hannah, but Pansy Parkinson who sweeps into step beside Hermione, all fathomless, shrewd eyes, silver-green tie unusually bright. The Hufflepuff is ill, I'll replace her for today. Marches on without a word, spine graceful and and lean as the fingers that swing by her side. The silence dances around them like fluttering ribbons.

The next few days when it is Hermione's turn for duty once more, Hannah apparently needs to go home for the evening to visit her sick mother, and Pansy falls into step beside her like there is no question about it, no question that she is standing just that inch too close, no question that if Hermione just moves her hands slightly to the side, their fingers will be brushing. Through the periphery of her vision, Hermione measures the spaces in between them, tries to calculate the air they are sharing, the tingling, sinuous air. 

Then there are the days where Hannah - studious Hannah, who never stepped a toe out of line - has apparently gotten herself into detention - Hannah? Detention? Yes, Granger. Move along now - and either Hermione's fingers brushes Pansy's or Pansy's fingers brushes hers - it does not matter outside the fact that it happens too often to be accidental, in the dreamy surreality of the soft moonbeams from the window of the Arithmancy corridors. 

Hermione kisses her on the ninth time it happens. There are no fireworks, no ecstatic revelations. It is just Pansy and her lips sliding up her jaw and her hands and her skin, and the cogs of the world shifting into places and oh, isn't it enough.


End file.
